Part 15 (1/2)
”The old gentleman was Jupiter. Didn't he tell you? He made a special effort to make you feel at home--put himself on a purely mortal basis--”
I fell back, limp and nerveless.
”What will he think of me?” I moaned, as I realized what had happened.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'WHAT?' I CRIED. 'I--THAT OLD MAN--WE'”]
”He thinks you are the best yet,” said the Major Domo. ”He has sent word by his messenger, Mercury, that the honors of Olympus are to be showered upon you to their fullest extent. He says you are the only frank mortal he ever met.”
And with this I was escorted back to my rooms at the hotel, impressed with the idea that all is not lead that doesn't glitter, and when I thought of my invention of the word ”stult,” I began to wish I had never been born.
XI
A Royal Outing
As may be imagined after my untoward interview with Jupiter, the state of my mind was far from easy. It is not pleasant to realize that you have applied every known epithet of contempt to a G.o.d who has an off-hand way of disposing of his enemies by turning them into apple-trees, or dumb beasts of one kind or another, and upon retiring to my room I sat down and waited in great dread of what should happen next. I couldn't really believe that the Major Domo's statement as to my having been forgiven was possible. It predicated too great a magnanimity to be credible.
”I hope to gracious he won't make a pine-tree of me,” I groaned, visions of a future in which woodmen armed with axes, and sawmills, played a conspicuous part, rising up before me. ”I'd hate like time to be sawed up into planks and turned into a Georgia pine floor somewhere.”
It was a painful line of thought and I strove to get away from it, but without success, although the variations were interesting when I thought of all the things I might be made into, such as kitchen tables, imitation oak bookcases, or perhaps--horror of horrors--a bundle of toothpicks! I was growing frantic with fear, when on a sudden my reveries of dread were interrupted by a knock on the door.
”It has come at last!” I said, and I opened the door, nerving myself up to sustain the blow which I believed was impending. Mercury stood without, flapping the wings that sprouted from his ankles impatiently.
”The skitomobile is ready, sir,” he said.
I gazed at him earnestly.
”The what?”
”The skitomobile, to take you to the links. Jupiter has already gone on ahead, and he has commanded me to follow, bringing you along with me.”
”Oh--I'm to go to the links, eh? What's he going to do with me when he gets me there? Turn me into a golf-ball and drive me off into s.p.a.ce?”
I inquired.
My heart sank at the very idea, but I was immediately rea.s.sured by Mercury's hearty laugh.
”Of course not--why should he? He's going to play you an eighteen-hole match. You've made a great impression on the old gentleman.”
”Thank Heaven!” I said. ”I'll hurry along and join him before he changes his mind.”
In a brief while I was ready, and, escorted by Mercury, I was taken to the skitomobile which stood at the exit from the hall to the outer roadway nearest my room. Seated in front of this, and acting as chauffeur, was a young man whom I recognized at once as Phaeton.
Alongside of him sat Jason, polis.h.i.+ng up the most beautiful set of golf-clubs I ever saw. The irons were of wrought gold, and the shafts of the most highly polished and exquisite woods.
”To the links,” said Mercury, and with a sudden chug-chug, and a jerk which nearly threw me out of the conveyance, we were off. And what a ride it was! At first the sensation was that of falling, and I clutched nervously at the sides of the skitomobile, but by slow degrees I got used to it, and enjoyed one of the most exhilarating hours that has ever entered into my experience.
Planet after planet was pa.s.sed as we sped on and on upward, and as my delight grew I gave utterance to it.